


Sceptre of Flamel - #17 - Promise

by zosimos (trismegistus)



Series: 50 Themes Sceptre of Flamel [7]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/zosimos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #17 of 50</p><p>A promise kept, and a promise broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sceptre of Flamel - #17 - Promise

The city hadn't changed terribly much in the years that he had been away. The buildings and avenues were mostly the same, and while there was new construction on the edges of town, it still felt like he had only been gone a span of days.

But there were still scars. Entire buildings had been leveled and rebuilt. Some buildings were damaged just mildly; and still bore burn marks and deep scrapes in the concrete. If you knew where to look, there was evidence of the battle strewn right before your eyes.

It was just after dusk. The early spring air had turned cool but it didn't seem to affect the amount of people out and about. He passed several young couples out on dates. To his surprise, though, while he did see the military uniform on some people, it was not with the regularity he was used to.

No one really gave him a second look. Dressed in waistcoat and tie, a long black greatcoat and his shaggy hair pulled back away from his face he gave off an air of confidence. He belonged here, and no one thought anything of it.

However, he didn't have any cenz in his pockets. So Roy flirted with the florist for a little while, until he walked away with a small bouquet of flowers and the florist's number in his pocket. It was quite gratifying to know that he hadn't lost his touch.

There were many things he wanted to do while he was in the city, but common sense told him that they were not things that needed to be done. He really shouldn't be here in the first place, in the train station there was still a faded wanted poster with his face on it. His chances of being identified were low, but still significant enough that this was the first year he'd been back. Some things were worth the risk.

The military cemetery was fenced completely off; its large gates closed at this hour. Two guards stood at its single gate, watching the street. They weren't too attentive, but they were there and that meant that Roy couldn't walk in the regular way. If he had wanted easy, he would have risked coming at daylight. Fortunately for him, he did have other means of entry.

Scaling the fence was easier than he'd anticipated, cumbersome coat included. He clambered up and over the wrought-iron fence, dropping the flowers to the ground before landing lightly beside them. He crouched a moment, waiting to see if anyone noticed him or the sound of him landing, and when there was no alarm raised he straightened up, scooping up the bouquet as he did so. He tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat, smoothing the wrinkles from his clothing before continuing on.

There were many more grave markers here than before. Roy's eyes roved over the pale marble, checking for names that he recognized as he made his way down the foot path. He was fortunate; he didn't recognize most of them.

Finally, Roy stopped before a familiar grave marker. There was already a wreath of flowers lying against it. Roy crouched to lay his own bouquet and as he did he noticed a photograph tucked behind the wreath. He pulled it out to look at it. It was a recent photo, of Elysia Hughes very intent on cleaning the lens of a camera much too big for her tiny hands. Roy smiled sadly and replaced the photo carefully behind the wreath.

He straightened, putting his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat. There were a million things he wanted to say, a million things that had happened since the last time he stood on this hill, before this grave and not a single one of them came forth. Roy bowed his head and shuffled a moment, before licking his lips. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

"For what?" Maes Hughes said from behind him.

Roy leapt about a foot in the air, spun around and scrambled backwards, managing to trip himself over the gravestone and land sprawled on the grass behind it. He gaped wordlessly at the apparition standing on the hill beside the grave, before managing a strangled "Maes?!"

"In the ... not so fleshy flesh," Maes said, poking some fingers through the palm of his hand to demonstrate his lack of corporeal form.

"What ... how..." Roy managed. "But, you're-"

"Dead? Yeah, kinda hard to miss that." Maes put his hands in his trouser pockets and raised his eyebrows, looking down at Roy. "You fell over my gravestone, Roy. Kinda disrespectful, yanno?"

"I'm hallucinating," Roy said, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. "I didn't land right when I scaled the fence, I must have hit my head and don't remember it-"

"Yeah, I saw you scale that fence. Pretty agile for an old man, Roy." Maes crouched beside Roy, and flipped up the end of his hair. "Can't say I like the hair, though. Was that Ed's idea?"

"What? No, I just haven't had time to have it trimmed and the last time I let Ed near my head with a pair of scissors he almost took my ear off-" Roy patted the top of his head self-consciously. "Why are you here?"

"I've always been here," Maes said. "Or about town, mostly keeping an eye on Gracia and Elysia." His smile was sad. "She's grown so much, you know." He poked his finger into the side of Roy's head, it was surprisingly solid for something so transparent. "I also looked in on you from time to time, hid your cap when I got bored." He cocked his head to the side. "The real question is, why can you see me now, when you couldn't before?"

Roy stared at Maes. "You were the one who kept hiding my- I knew I wasn't crazy, it was never where I left it-"

Maes snapped his fingers in front of Roy's face. "Focus, Roy. You aren't dead, I hardly think you'd be leaving me flowers if you were floundering about the afterlife on your own."

"No, no I'm not dead." Roy stood up unsteadily. "I had an involuntary career change, but I'm not dead." He straightened his waistcoat again, shuffling his shoulders to settle the heavier coat better. "Maes. Why are you still here?"

Maes' eyes were on his, piercing. "Are you happy?"

"What-"

"It's a simple question, Roy."

He thought about it, his face carefully blank. He thought about Edward, in golden sunlight, sleepy beside him, or standing tall and proud in plate armor, the top of his head barely reaching the shoulders of the other angels but his fierceness outshining them a thousand to one. He thought about a sleepy little cabin in the middle of nowhere, a grand opulent office with a comfortable couch and a small spare bedroom in the Rockbell house. Edward's honest, open smile as they shared a joke. That preoccupied glint in his eyes as he read intently. The indescribable look as he stared up at Roy from underneath him, sweat caught in his bangs and mouth open.

Roy smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

"Then, there's no need for you to apologize," Maes said simply. When Roy raised his gaze to ask what he meant by that, he was alone on the hill. A cool breeze shifted the grass and the trees, and the jingle of a patrol dog's tags caught his ear.

The groundskeeper was doing his rounds with the dog when his hound suddenly started straining against his lead. He barked, before breaking out of the old man's hands. "Oi," the groundskeeper yelled, chasing futilely after his dog.

He found the dog sniffing around a gravestone, whining. As the grounds keeper's flashlight swept over the marker, the cool breeze shifted the feather that had settled on the stone, and it drifted down to rest atop the flowers left behind.


End file.
